


Grateful (That I'm Not) Dead

by IndigoFudge



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill and Georgie get reunited, Character Death Fix, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie comes back to life, Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Georgie comes back to life, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Look I almost cried writing this okay, M/M, Resurrection, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Richie Tozier, Stan comes back to life, Stanley Uris Lives, Tears, The Turtle CAN Help Us (IT)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoFudge/pseuds/IndigoFudge
Summary: After the events of It Chapter Two, Eddie Kaspbrak wakes up in the Barrens - alive, whole, and with Georgie Denbrough and Stan Uris lying unconscious three feet away.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Georgie Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 22
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

Eddie Kaspbrak opens his eyes to a blinding blue sky and immediately shuts them again. 

His first thought is _Holy shit, I died._

His second thought is _Where am I?_

Carefully, Eddie squints, sitting up as slowly as possible. The surroundings are blurry; he blinks until they're clear. Trees sway in the slight breeze and water touches his ankles. _The Barrens_ , he realizes. A small smile spreads across his face. They'd all played here a lot as kids, building dams and tossing rocks into the water. Everything about it is nostalgic. It puts Eddie at ease. The combination of warm sun on his face and birds chirping almost makes him want to fall asleep - he's certainly exhausted enough to do so. But of course, he can't. 

_Why am I here?_

He notices that he's clutching a bloody, mud-streaked piece of fabric in one hand. It's torn and smells like the sewer, but it's obvious what it is: _Richie's jacket._

Eddie's other hand rests loosely on his chest.

"My-" He starts, his mouth dry. The words break off into coughs. "My chest! The blood, the... oh shit." He drops the jacket, clawing at his chest with both hands, feeling for any broken skin and finding none. Somehow, all that remains of his massive wound is an angry red scar and a long tear in his yellow t-shirt. Breathing hard, he clenches his fingers into fists, trying and failing to decrease the shakiness.

Eddie looks around more.

He's lying on the muddy bank of the Barrens, dressed in the same outfit he wore when he died. Dirt and dried blood cover his skin. The wound in his cheek is scarred over just like the wound in his chest. His heart is beating. Even though it defies all logic, he seems to be alive. Eddie takes a test deep breath. No blood catches in his throat; his lungs don't rattle; it doesn't feel as if someone is repeatedly stabbing him with a machete. He's probably in the world of the living once more.

He doesn't get the chance to feel too relieved, though, because he spots two bodies lying several feet away.

One body is that of a child. The other one is a grown man. 

Eddie scrambles to his knees, rolling the child over first and immediately pressing his ear to the boy's chest. To his great relief, there is a faint heartbeat. He leans back so he can get a better look at the kid's face, and his own breath stutters. 

It's impossible. There's absolutely no way that this can be true, unless- no, they killed It, didn't they? That was the last thing he'd heard before he bled out. It is dead and gone for good, and presumably all of Its tricks have faded away.

So then why is Georgie Denbrough sprawled unconscious on the ground?

The boy _has_ to be Georgie, he's even got on the yellow raincoat and green galoshes. But he has both arms.

Before Eddie can begin to process this, a groan comes from the other body, the man. He lifts his head, blinking groggily. His fingers scrabble in the mud and find a smudged pair of glasses. Carefully he cleans them as best he can with his damp shirt, and places them on his face. "Where am I?"

There's something about that voice - and that face, for that matter - that's eerily familiar. The other man's hair is darker and he has stubble now, but the fashion sense has stayed the same. Eddie swallows, shrinking back a little bit. _I don't think I can take any more of this,_ he thinks. _If this is a dream, or if I am dead, please let it go away._

"The Barrens?" says the other man, sitting up fully. He seems to notice Eddie, and they meet each other's gaze. A million things pass between them during the few seconds that they lock eyes.

Taking a wheezing breath, Eddie wishes he had his inhaler. "Stanley?" he whispers. His voice trembles. _Stanley fucking Uris. Stan the man._ He's definitely reached the quota for unbelievable things happening in one day. "Holy shit, holy fucking- Stan!"

Recognition dawns on Stan, and his eyes fill with tears. "Eddie!"

The two embrace, holding each other as sobs wrack their bodies. "Are we dead?" Eddie gasps out. "Because- because you're here, I'm here, and fucking _Georgie's_ here, and- if I'm in the afterlife, just tell me." 

"I don't know," says Stan. "I mean, we should be. By all logic and reason, I should be in an Atlanta morgue with a tag tied around my big toe, and you should be..." He trails off, lips parted. "Wait, did you die?"

Eddie looks away to keep from crying. "It got me," he manages to say. "It got me good. Right through the chest. Richie stayed with me until it was over." _Until I died._ Remembering his death is almost as painful as the actual death had been. Yeah, Richie'd stayed with him, but the others left. Not that Eddie blamed them. Of course they had to go kill It - that was the priority. But he had wanted so badly for them to be there, if only to reassure him that they didn't hate him and that he wasn't weak. 

"Oh," Stan breathes, leaning forward for another hug. He rubs Eddie's back. "Oh, Eddie. I'm so glad you're okay. I know how scary it is, and I'm so sorry I couldn't be there. I'm glad Richie was. He cares about you." 

Eddie sinks more into the hug. "That means a lot, Stan." He's choked up. "And the more I think about it, the more I think we're alive now. We're breathing, right? Also, listen- cars." 

From far away, there's the sound of vehicles driving through downtown Derry. Eddie tilts his face towards the sun, relishing its warmth again after being so cold for so long. The inside of his mouth is coated in dried blood; he wishes he had a glass of juice or something. His stomach growls. _Oh, some food would be nice too._ He pulls away from the hug and gets to his feet as gingerly as he can, stretching out his cramped limbs and massaging his muscles.

_What I wouldn't give to have a nice meal at Bagel Central. Maybe a slice of gluten-free cheesecake. Richie would be there too. I'd have my laptop so I could be working, and he'd be cracking his stupid jokes, and things could be normal. Or at least as normal as possible in Derry. Afterwards, we could go to the Briar Patch, I assume it's old now, but back then it was good as new. I remember I would read comics and enjoy the air conditioning and it would be a nice escape from my Ma from a little while. I'd like to take Richie there again, just to see how it looks after thirty years._

He can't leave the Barrens right now, obviously, because a quick look at Georgie reveals the boy starting to wake up. Eddie crouches down again. "Hey, buddy."

Georgie whimpers, opening his eyes. As soon as his vision focuses on Eddie, he scoots backwards, leaving a trail in the mud as he goes. "Stay back!" he orders. "'M not scared!" 

"Georgie, it's okay," Stan says. "We're friends of Billy's." 

"I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers." Georgie frowns, crossing his arms. 

Eddie trades a glance with Stan. "That's good. But we're not strangers. I'm Eddie. And this right here is Stanley. You remember us, right?" _Georgie's young enough to still believe in magic. I think._

Georgie giggles, scrunching up his nose. "You're old!" he exclaims. "Look, you have wrinkles!" He reaches out with his index finger, jabbing at the lines around Eddie's mouth.

"Uh-huh," says Eddie, unable to stop a sad smile from growing across his face. "We're all grown up." Tears prick at his eyes, and he suddenly finds that he can no longer speak.

Stan puts a comforting hand on Eddie's back and takes over the conversation. "You were asleep for a really long time, Georgie. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um... I lost my boat. A clown took it." He frowns. "He tricked me, and I got hurt."

Shaking off the foggy sadness, Eddie stands, scooping Georgie up in his arms and holding him close. "You're safe now. And we'll go take you to see Billy. Okay?"

Georgie shivers and snuggles up to Eddie's chest. "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me immediately getting writer's block!

By the time Eddie leads Stan and Georgie back to the Townhouse, everyone else is asleep. There's still no innkeeper.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I need a shower," Eddie says in a low whisper. "So I guess I can take a key from one of those vacant rooms, let myself in, and use one there. You stay here with Georgie."

The hot water is all gone. Eddie doesn't care. He scrubs his skin raw, watching mud and dirt and _blood_ run off of him in rivers. _That right there is it. That's what killed me. That's what remains of the past however long, wow, yeah, how long was I gone? I don't even care at this point. Good fucking riddance._ The grime swirls down the drain. Once he's clean, he dries himself as best he can, and takes a good look at himself in the mirror. A winding pink scar cuts across his chest. It hurts a little when he touches it, but not as much as it had when it was a gigantic open wound. Eddie goes to get dressed and immediately runs into a problem.

All of his clean clothes are in his room - the room for which he has lost the key somewhere down in the sewers. He’s sure as fuck not getting back into the t-shirt and jeans. The shirt was ripped to shreds and the jeans were soaked in graywater and- and- God-only-knows-what. And he can't very well go into town and buy himself a new outfit, can he? It seems like there's only one option left: steal some of Richie's clothes and hope for the best.

Okay, fine. Maybe there are other options. But it's 3:47 AM and Eddie is too fucking exhausted to think of anything else, so he holds the towel tighter around himself and quietly tries Richie's doorknob. Of course it's unlocked; Richie's an idiot with no care for security. _And I couldn't be more grateful for that right now_ , Eddie thinks, slinking into the room. He takes tiny steps in order to avoid stubbing his toe. Fortunately, this isn't exactly a five star hotel, so the windows are fitted with sheer fabric that lets in every ounce of moonlight, which does a good job illuminating Richie's suitcase off in the corner.

Eddie kneels down, rummaging through the messy piles of clothes until he finds a too-big shirt and a pair of flannel shorts. Just as he stands up to go, he's suddenly bathed in the bright beam of a phone flashlight, which startles him into dropping the towel.

There's a scream.

"EDDIE?!?" Richie yells.

Eddie can't see his face because of the flashlight, but he doesn't care. He rushes to put on the shorts. "Fuck, shit, _yes_ , it's me, but could you please keep it down and turn off that goddamn flashlight?" The shorts keep falling down; he pulls the drawstring as tight as it can go. His heart is beating out of his chest. _This isn't how I wanted it to happen this isn't how I wanted him to see me again I don't even have a goddamn shirt on but I missed his voice and I missed him and so this will have to do_ _._ "Look, I promise I'll explain everything in a-"

He can't finish his sentence. Richie bowls him to the floor, a mess of snot and tears. "Eddie," he cries. "You fucking- you fucking asshole, oh my God, Eddie. I'm so sorry! Eds, Eddie, I'm so sorry. Holy shit. Holy _shit!_ " He's shaking with sobs. 

Eddie freezes for two seconds, but then hugs Richie back. "Jesus Christ, Rich, I missed you," he mumbles, burying his face in Richie's pajama shirt. "Hey. It's okay, I promise I'm okay." _Safe_ , Eddie thinks. _I'm safe. I'm safe and in Richie's arms._ He could just about cry with relief, and then he feels tears run down his cheeks and realizes he is. And at this moment, it is all worth it, every last drop of blood and gasp for air and stab of pain and broken bone. It all led up to this - to being tackled by his best friend and squeezed in the tightest hug he's ever felt in his life. Is this where he's meant to be? Lying on the floor in a cheap motel room while he and Richie sob quietly in order to not wake up anyone else? It seems like it. He fits in Richie's arms like the final puzzle piece, like everything had happened for a reason and this is the pièce de résistance.

"How?" Richie chokes out. "How are you okay? Eds, I saw you down there, you fucking _died,_ you were dead. Your heart wasn't fucking beating. You had an _actual gaping bloody hole_ in the middle of your chest." With trembling hands, he holds Eddie close, almost as if he is the only thing preventing Eddie from dying.

"I know, Richie." Eddie brings his hand up to the back of Richie's head. "I just... I woke up in the Barrens. And I wasn't alone!" He pulls back. "Holy shit, that's right, Richie, I wasn't alone, there are- downstairs- I need to show you!" Tugging the shirt on, he grabs Richie's hand and brings him downstairs, almost tripping on the last step but catching himself just in time. At the sight of an unharmed Stan and Georgie sitting on the couch, Richie's jaw drops.

"S..Stan," he says, taking one step forward and wrapping Stan in his arms. " _Stan!_ _Stanny_ , you motherfucker. You're a goddamn idiot for making us all think you were dead for good." The flood of tears grows stronger as he brushes Georgie's hair back from his forehead. "And _Georgie_ too?! Hey there, little buddy, I haven't seen you in a while. You look like just as much of a rascal as you did back then." Richie sits down, allowing Georgie to climb into his lap and promptly fall asleep; the poor kid's exhausted.

Stan smiles softly at Richie. "Did Eddie tell you what happened? Or, well- I guess we don't really know what happened."

"Yeah." Richie sniffles. "Yeah, the death-defying Spaghetti Man over here tried his best to explain, but I wasn't really listening. Too focused on hugging the shit out of him." He tries to smile back, but it doesn't work.

"Look at me, Richie," Eddie whispers, sitting down at the end of the couch. "This is real. I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon, okay, Trashmouth?"

Richie chuckles a little at the nickname. He focuses his gaze on the yellow raincoat-clad bundle in his lap. "There's just... a lot of stuff I need to tell you." His voice cracks, almost dissolving into tears again.

The ticking of the clock echoes in the lounge area while Eddie tries to think of something to say. He eventually settles on "There's a lot of stuff I need to tell you, too, but we'll have plenty of time." _I hope._ Because truthfully, he has no idea if this is permanent or not. For all he knows, he might fall asleep now and never wake up again. "Can I rest now? Please?"

"You were just dead, that seems like plenty of rest," Richie says weakly, a poor attempt at a joke. "But yeah. Let's sleep for a little bit."

* * *

Eddie is ripped from sleep the next morning by shouting. Bill stands at the top of the stairs, white as a sheet. "S-S-" He doesn't seem to have noticed Georgie yet - instead his gaze is focused on Stan, who is blearily waking up. "S-S- _Stan!"_ Bill finally yells, taking the steps two at a time and skidding to a stop in front of the couch. His hands hover over Stan's body, unsure what to do. "Is it you? Are you real? Because if you're the f-f-f-fucking clown, _t-take your shot!_ "

Stan yawns, smiling tiredly. "Bill," he says. "Yeah, man, it's really me." He holds his arms wide open. "I know you're confused, I would be too. Just come here."

"J-Jesus Christ, Stanny," Bill says, collapsing into Stan's embrace. "Your w-w-wife, she told us-"

"I know." Stan puts a hand on Bill's shoulder. "Would you believe me if I said I woke up yesterday in the Barrens with no memory of how I got there?"

Bill grabs a tissue from the end table and blows his nose. "I've heard a lot of p-p-pretty unbelievable things in the l-last few days, Stan, and I know you're n-not the t-t-type of person to lie to me about this shit. So yeah, I b-believe you." He looks Stan up and down, and then claps him on the back. "Wow." A smile grows across his face.

"Billy?"

The small voice comes from the lap of Richie, who is still sleeping. Georgie rubs his eyes, and then stares up at Bill. 

Bill freezes. Ever so slowly, like he doesn't want to believe it, he turns his head to his younger brother. 

The cry that tears its way up his throat then is so loud that it must wake everyone up in a five mile radius. "G-G-Georgie," Bill stutters out. "Georgie!" He lunges forward as Georgie leaps into his arms. "Georgie, it's y-you! It's actually you th-this time! I've m-m-missed you so _m-much._ "

"I missed you too, Billy!" Georgie's voice is muffled, but it sounds like he's crying too. "I'm sorry I lost her."

"L-l-lost who?" 

"The boat." Georgie wriggles out of Bill's arms. "I tried real hard to get her, I did! But the clown took her."

Bill blows his nose again. "You don't n-n-need to apologize. I'm not m-m-mad, I promise." He kisses Georgie on the forehead. "Sometimes captains lose their b-boats. It doesn't m-m-make them bad captains, it makes them _b-b-better_ because they learn." (Eddie thinks that Bill is talking to himself just as much as he's talking to Georgie. _Good for you, Big Bill. Learn from your mistakes._ )

The other Losers are coming out of their rooms now. Mike is the first one. "We heard screams about Georgie? What-" he starts, but his sentence abruptly cuts off. "Oh my God." And then he's rushing downstairs, gathering Eddie and Stan up into a big hug. "Stan, I'm sorry, I need you to know that- how sorry I am. It's my fault. If I hadn't called, you'd be at home, see, you'd be _happy,_ and I- I took that from you."

"I am happy." Stan's expression is resolute. "I've never been more certain about a decision in my life, Mikey. If I could go back in time, I wouldn't change a thing. Do you hear me?"

Mike exhales. "That- that's good. Thank you." He nods firmly. 

Bev and Ben come downstairs together, taking turns hugging Stan and Eddie. "You haven't changed," sobs Bev, holding both of Stan's hands. "I was right - you look the same, but taller. I'm so sorry, I'm _so sorry,_ I should have- if I'd- if I'd said something, or talked to you- if I'd been _better-_ maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Hey." Stan squeezes her hands. "I made my own decision, Bev. You did everything right."

Ben's eyes glisten with tears. "Were you still alive down there?" His voice cracks. "Eddie, were you still alive down there?! Did I leave you alive down there?!"

"No," Eddie assures him, as gently as possible. "Listen to me, I was gone. I woke up in the Barrens. I don't know how, but I _do_ know that under Neibolt I was dead. Ben. Dead people generally don't come back to life, I know that because I'm a risk analyst, alright?" _I do wish you would have carried me out, though,_ he thinks. _I was dead. But I wish... I wish you would have taken me anyways._ Of course he doesn't say this aloud - he absolutely does not want Ben feeling worse than he already does. Eddie just keeps it inside his head, locked away along with the feelings for Richie that he's been repressing for thirty years.

That's a problem for another day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie does something brave.
> 
> Stan reunites with Patty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for homophobia and abuse (in Eddie's flashbacks). Also TW for mentions of s**cide (in Stan's phone call to Patty).

Eddie and Richie sit in the overstuffed armchair, bodies pressed together, one of Richie's arms slung around Eddie's shoulders. Richie is laughing and talking and doing Voices and Eddie doesn't think he's ever loved someone this much in his whole life. It _hurts,_ a tangible ache in his heart. 

Gradually, people drift off to bed. Mike goes first - "Long day," he says as he leaves for the library, "See everyone tomorrow?" - and then Bill. Ben and Bev go upstairs hand in hand. Eddie swears he sees Bev give him a wink before she disappears above the balcony.

Suddenly, he is very conscious of his position in Richie's arms. He slows his breathing down and becomes very, very still. _Don't touch the other boys like that, Eddie_ , his Ma would say. _Don't look at the other boys like that, Eddie. Don't even think of the other boys like that, Eddie. You are already sick enough. Do you want to get AIDS and die? Do you want to waste away in a hospital? There is a special place I can send you to if you need help, if you can't get these disgusting thoughts out of your head._ She gave him this lecture whenever he looked at Richie the wrong way, and that time she found the 'I like you' note buried at the bottom of his trash can that he was too scared to send. _Eddie-bear! You are too young to be thinking about_ anyone _this way, but_ especially _other boys!_

She would send Eddie to his room. Sometimes, she would refuse to talk to him for the rest of the week. At the end of every punishment, though, she would squeeze and kiss him and say _it's for your own good. I treat you like this for your own good. I give you these pills for your own good. I make you stay inside for your own good. I keep you away from those heathens for your own good. I don't want you hanging around them, around Richie; it's for your own good._

But that was the thing, wasn't it? None of it was for his own good. It was all to control him. Sonia didn't want him living his own life. Sonia didn't want him to be happy. Sonia didn't want him to love someone if that _someone_ was Richie.

 _I'm free now,_ Eddie thinks. _My Ma can't control me. Myra can't control me. It was 'til death do us part,' and I died_ _, right? I'm my own person now. I can make my own choices._

"When I was dying," he says lightly. "I said 'I fucked your mom.'" The words are dry in his mouth.

Richie smiles, nudging Eddie with his elbow. "Yeah. It was fucking hilarious. What about it?"

"I wasn't... I said I needed to tell you something. I was going to say something else, but you- you were fucking looking at me, like _exactly how you are_ _now,_ with those stupid bug eyes magnified behind your glasses. And you just looked so sad, you know? Like someone had just ripped your heart out of your chest and burned it. I mean, you looked _terrified_ , and I... I didn't want to die seeing you terrified. I wanted to make you laugh, because you always made me laugh. So I changed my plan." He sighs thinly and stands up. "Do you understand? I didn't- _want_ to say 'I fucked your mom.'"

"You didn't?"

"No! Obviously not!" Eddie throws his hands up in the air with exasperation. "No one _wants_ to say that, especially not- not under those circumstances. No one _wants_ to make those stupid fucking jokes except _you_ , for some reason, and that's my _whole point._ _You_ , Trashmouth, are different. And it makes me _so goddamn mad._ I don't fucking get it. I always thought- always- that I was--..... but _you_ are the exception. It doesn't make sense, it never has! Why _you_? Why are _you_ like this? Why do _you_ make me feel like this? I can't-" His chest shudders in a sob; he looks helplessly up at Richie, begging him to read between the lines. _'Read between the lines.' More like 'read this gigantic fucking neon sign,'_ Eddie thinks.

Richie just stares with his huge owlish eyes and blinks. 

"Jesus _Christ_ , Rich, you don't understand! _Fuck,_ you're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?" _Not too late, not too late. I can still back out now._ But Eddie has to be brave, he knows he can. "I- I _love_ you, you big asshole! I've loved you this whole time! Can't you see that?!" Eddie's trembling, tears spilling down his cheeks. His breathing comes in shaky gasps. He looks away, the tips of his ears burning, and sits down on the edge of the table with his face in his hands. Each beat of silence seems to mock him. _You just ruined everything,_ teases the voice in his head, _like you always do._

"Eds?" Richie says hesitantly. "Can I sit next to you?"

Eddie swallows. "Yeah." His voice is small, _scared._ He has completely run out of steam.

Carefully sitting down, Richie puts a gentle hand on Eddie's back. "Eddie, I... I... I love you too." 

"What?" Eddie's head snaps up. " _What?_ You- _what?_ You do?" This is not what he expected. This is not even what he _wanted._ Because if the love is one-sided, it would just be a shameful admission, something they could both brush off. But if it's requited, well. That's a whole different story. That's a life-ruining, home-wrecking story. Eddie's _married_ , for Christ's sake - to a woman. 

(An abusive woman, though, and he can acknowledge that now. Myra is abusive and she's just like his fucking mother. Does that make a difference?)

 _Yeah,_ Eddie thinks. _It does._

He inches closer and he can feel Richie's body heat and they kiss. Every repressed feeling and shameful thought from the past thirty years evaporates; he feels so much lighter. It is not dirty. It is not wrong. It is not sick. It's _love._ It is a love that survived death, it is a love that survived twenty-seven years of forgetting, it is a love that survived Derry - all the horrible people and horrible events. Eddie knows that he and Richie are tethered and _nothing_ can sever that.

"Eddie," says Richie breathlessly when the kiss is over, grabbing both of Eddie's hands to steady himself. " _Eddie,_ dude."

"'Dude?'" Eddie presses his lips together. "We just fucking- _kissed_ \- and you call me-"

"Hey, it's okay, man, I was just joking." Richie's expression softens, his eyes sparkling. "Holy shit, I've been fantasizing about that for so long. I kind of always imagined I'd be the one to kiss you first, though."

Eddie pushes him. "Shut _up,_ asshole, you're ruining the moment." But he's holding back laughter.

"Well, then, let's bring the moment back. No rule on how many we can have." Richie kisses Eddie again, bringing a hand up and brushing his fingers over the scar on Eddie's cheek. Eddie melts into the kiss with a sigh. They move back to the armchair, tangling their legs together, breathing quietly.

At 2 in the morning, they fall asleep.

* * *

Stan wakes up bright and early at 9:00 AM. He washes his clothes in the cramped Townhouse laundry room and showers while he waits for them to dry. By 11:17, he has fixed his tie and eaten breakfast, and he is ready. 

His phone is back in Atlanta, so he sneaks into Bev's room and grabs hers. Then he finds a nice spot on a bench outside, takes a deep breath, and Facetimes his wife.

She picks up on the fifth ring. Her jaw drops as Stan's face comes into focus.

"Hi, love," says Stan, trying to hold back his tears but not doing a very good job. "It's me. I know you're mad and you have every right to be. It was just only fair for me to call you and let you know I'm okay." The words shake as they leave his mouth. _There's no easy way to tell your wife that you're alive again after you killed yourself, huh?_

"S- _Stanley,_ " she chokes out, a hand flying to her face. "You- you-"

"I was dead," Stan admits. "That happened. But there's a lot of things I haven't told you about Derry. Please, Patty, give me some of your time to explain, and then you can never talk to me again if you so choose."

"I- alright." Patty grabs a tissue, wiping at her cheeks with it. "Stanley, I'm not _mad,_ I- I just don't understand."

Closing his eyes so he doesn't have to see Patty's heartbroken look, Stan begins. "Derry was where I grew up. It's a small town in Maine and a very bad place to raise kids. Not only were- _are-_ the people here racist, homophobic, anti-Semitic, and hateful, but... children would go missing. Every twenty-seven years, this _thing_ , this _evil,_ would take kids away. It tried to take me, Pats. My friends and I fought It. We couldn't have been older than fourteen, but we did a damn good job and held our own against It. One day in the sewers - that's where It lived - we thought we killed It."

Patty gasps. "You killed someone?"

"No, no," says Stan quickly, opening his eyes. "Not some _one._ Some _thing._ It wasn't human, dear, It was... actually, I don't- I don't really know what It was. This is going to sound silly, but It appeared to us most often in the form of a clown. Called Itself 'Pennywise.' It could take one look at you and know your worst fears, and that's what It used to fight you. Mine was- it was this painting in my father's office, a surrealistic one of a woman whose face was misshapen and wrong. It knew I was absolutely terrified of that painting, so It took the form of the woman and attacked me. That's why I have these scars on the sides of my face." He moves his hair and motions to the rows of marks on each of his cheeks.

"A demon." Patty's skin pales. "You fought a demon."

"I suppose that's a good of an identifier as any, love." Stan picks at the peeling paint on the bench. "We fought a demon and thought we'd won. There were seven of us. Bill - he was the leader, he was wonderful - he made us all swear that if It wasn't dead, we would all come back. I... well. I broke that oath. It came back and I broke that oath. I was too scared to go back and fight It again; I knew It might kill me and... I wanted my death to be on my own terms."

There's a long pause as Patty absorbs this information. "I'm just sorry I didn't realize you were hurting sooner. Maybe I could have done something."

"No, you couldn't have. I promise you: I made this choice all on my own, and nothing you could have said or done would have changed my mind," says Stan.

"Okay." Patty nods hesitantly. "But I'm still lost about how you're alive right now. The last time I saw you, you were in a _morgue,_ Stanley."

Stan blows out a breath. "Derry is magical," he concedes. "I don't like it, I don't understand it, but that doesn't change the fact that something is at work here. My friends killed It without me, and a day or so after It died, I was brought back to life by some force. It wasn't just me - one of my friends who passed away in the fight is alive again too, and so is Bill’s younger brother. We are the only ones that this force granted a second chance to that I know of, but there could very well be more. Only time will tell. I... I think I need to stay here for a bit longer."

"Of course," says Patty. She rustles through something off-camera. "I'll buy tickets to the next flight out. Even though I may not be able to help, I want to be here for you."

"Thank you, Patty." Stan gives a small smile, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I'll see you soon."


End file.
